


Unwelcome Assistance

by TurboFerret



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, The mech thinks bad thoughts very thoroughly, Undercover as Married, Virgin Widow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboFerret/pseuds/TurboFerret
Summary: This is my late Shiptembernpost on the Jazz/Prowl relationship Bingo. Instead of trying to write a story for each option I decided to string as many together as possible while they still made sense.And here it is:   Virgin Widow with a tragic past from a Marriage of convenience On the Run!!
Relationships: Barricade/Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	1. ‘Till death do us part

**Author's Note:**

> I will add the descriptions of weird stuff as it gets mentioned. Here we have an internal debate on whether necrophilia is a decent course of action.

Vent in… vent out….

He washed his face and looked in the wash rack mirror, a retracted visor showed his overbright optics, drops of solvent running down his youthfully plump and trembling lips. He’d trained for this, he knew what to do, so why was he afraid to leave the washracks?

His considerate...conjunx. Uh, he braced himself over the sink and threw up. Did all mechs get sick on their first night of betrothal or was he the lucky one? His conjunx to be had let him freshen up before they consummated their union. Had the circumstances been different… had this been a union of love and not strategic placement of pawns. He brushed off these thoughts, mechs like him did not have the luxury of considering matters of the spark.

Vent in… vent out….

He straightened, pulled his shoulder struts back and looked at the mirror once more. He had a job to do, a conjunx to woo and squeeze for information and a pleasure to fake. He snapped his visor down; he will never be more ready than now.

With flourish and charm, he opened the door to the washracks.

-”Darling, I didn’t make you wait too lo… uh..” 

On their marital berth lay a frame of his conjunx, stiff and starting to grey around the edges. Optics open and mouth slightly ajar. Jazz gulped. Frag.

-”Honey?!” With desperation in tone he rushed to his legally betrothed, shaking his shoulder strut. 

Frag, frag, frag

He checked for wounds, there were none, he had personally tested their consumables before the mech even got to touch them to make sure their night was not spoiled by an errant assasination attempt. That would follow some time later, from Jazz himself even. The mech was old enough to die of natural causes but he just had to pick this slagtastic moment to do it.

Their bonding was not consummated, Jazz had failed at securing a spot at the political negotiation table as a conjunx of an influential mech because his seal was still int…. He cast a dirty look towards the mech’s interface panel. Theoretically he was not too dead….

Frantically he unsubspaced a set of thin tools and needles and set to pick at the mechanism holding the modesty armor of his recently deceased bethroted in place. Act fast before the frame became too stiff.  _ Before he thought too deep about it, before he changed his mind... _

One manual override later he saw the mech’s recessed spike, still in its housing, slowly greying at the tip. Jazz stared at it for a long moment, dumbfounded by the sudden close-up and personal. This was not how he imagined seeing another’s spike for the first time.

Come to think of it, Jazz was not sure if the mech could have fully pressurized it anyway, even being alive. Another speculative look, Jazz could maybe coax it ou…. Oh for fragssake he was not going to frag a pitdamn dead mech. Moreover not for his first time.

With a huff he turned his back to his greying conjunx, sat on the edge of the berth, slouched his shoulders and hugged himself. 

Now was the time of weighing out options.

His true patrons - the ones who had pressed this arrangement - may question his loyalty after this and if they spun it juust right, they could accuse him of murder. He for sure had the background for it, and also a criminal past, easily unveiled if one scraped the surface of his pristine background.

That was a possible scenario but since they had vouched for him there was no way they wouldn’t incriminate themselves as well if they implied he was at fault.

There was another thing to consider - far too many would benefit from the imbalance caused by this mech being murdered rather than dying of natural causes. 

And none of those mechs were invested in Jazz’s well-being. Even if he came out of the arrest alive he was sure they wouldn’t let him survive the interrogation. Who needed another obstacle in form of a representative from a house of otherwise heirless mech?

It was quite simple after all. If he ran he would be a fugitive. If he stayed he’d be dead. 

Decision made, he subspaced his ceremonial finery - a golden choker and a few magnetic brooches interconnected by cascades of thin chains. He’d cash them in when he ran out of credits. He made sure to discard any adornments that may tie him to this house, in case he did get caught. A few fancy chalices and a stray credit stick found their way into his subspace as well. 

He came to the window and opened it, glancing back at his unused nuptial berth. Eh, his strengths lay in the field anyway.

He clambered out of the berth room and onto the roof, surveying his options. There were guards at the door of the house, two stationed at the gate, one hiding in the inner courtyard, two next to the chamber from Which he has just fled. Two patrolling the wall surrounding the compound in three shifts. 

He crouched low, there was no way he could leave unnoticed from this position. He returned to the berth room and took a few sheets, covering the now mostly grey frame to make it less obvious. Vigorous interface could leave one tired and Jazz bet on that. In the meantime he threw a few meshes on himself, making sure to drape them just pleasingly enough. It was common to cover up the paint transfers related to interfacing in higher society. And it is a conjunxe’s duty to fetch some coolant for his exhausted partner after a vigorous bout of lovemaking.

Jazz quietly cracked the door open, smiling at the guards timidly and talking in a demure manner of one recently deflowered.

-“The, baron, um, he is going to be thirsty when he wakes up. Please guard him for me while I fetch some coolant?”

Pulling the meshes closer around his frame, Jazz made his way down the hall, making sure to keep his gait somewhat unstable and slouch a little like a mech that had done something shameful just moments ago but not quite shameful enough to require immediate investigation. 

Once out of the guard’s sight Jazz made his way down the kitchens and did indeed pour some coolant, for himself.

Lucky for him most servants were out and those who were still in were too busy finishing with their day to judge too harshly a new conjunx that has become peckish in the middle of the night. 

His visitation also included nabbing a few leftovers from the ceremonial meal, a few cubes of fine energon went into his subspace along with a pretty cake knife that he was sure he could polish to deadly sharpness, a few dish rags and a coal bucket. Then he went to the back door and through the servant passage. He was too shiny so he put plenty of coal dust on the dish rags and smeared them over his frame effectively enough to disguise his original colors. 

He then hoisted the basket on his shoulder and went towards the side gate. The now dirty dish rags he tied around his hands to imitate bandages and around his visor and upper part of the helm to hide his distinguishing features - visor and helm finials. Plenty of unfortunate mecha there employed in coal delivery. He added a limp to his gait and crushed a piece of coal into one of his joints to imitate the creak of an ill-maintained frame. He limped past the guards and into the night full of uncertainties.

  
  
  



	2. The Odd Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we are on chapter two introducing out lovely oddball duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So this being a transformers fick, Coal is a little, out of the environment no? Oh well I will ask you to suspend your disbelief

Two Praxian pursuit vehicles were on standby by the side of the South Praxian road. Whilst not inside the citystate itself, the area was already well within the jurisdiction of Praxus and thus subject to such patrol units.

A light sporty alt passed by well within the speed bounds, direction Altihex.

-“How about that one?”

-“For the last time, Barricade...” The tone was wary, laced with annoyance.

-“We’re here to watch mecha, so I am.”

The black and white-panelled enforcer alt rocked on its tires. -”What you are doing is not work and I am not going to engage in it.” 

The black more-heavily armored enforcer vehicle cleared its vents, puffing small clumps of dust in the air. -”Look, the chief wants us to get along, there will be no getting along if we do not communicate.”

-”And your idea of communication is comparing the attractiveness of the alts that pass us?”

-”I don’t see you coming up with anything better and you know the rules as well as I do so why don’t you at least try?” 

-“I see it merely as a punishment for us getting caught fighting and tolerating each other’s company exactly is the punishment. Hence I’d rather get this over with as little interaction with you as possible.”

-“Pit why did I get stuck on road duty with you out of all mechs?”

-“You’re the one to complain? I was actually looking forward to having a day off that I did not have to spend in your company and look where we are.”

-“Op, got a speedy one.”

Barricade was off like a dart, leaving Prowl with his arguments, quite literally, in the dust. They shared a particular kind of dislike for each other that usually got both of them in trouble. And this time they both had to endure the consequences.

::Alt-type?:: Prowl commed as he lined up, following Barricades’ tail lights in pursuit of a speedster. Slipping into the operational lingo was much easier than maintaining a regular conversation. At least he knew what to expect.

::Light civilian class, Heavily modded, box?::

A box was a simple maneuver of caging in the suspect while moving that needed only two enforcer frames to complete.

::Box:: Prowl mirrored, watching as his more heavily-built colleague pulled ahead to try and overcome the mech from the front, while Prowl moved in to the side, starting to press their quarry to the side of the road.

Heavy modders were the absolute worst, one never knew how reliable their mods were and how deeply their internal structure had been compromised to achieve them. Like now, when Prowl had to alter his course because a piece of wheel casing didn’t withstand the stress of acceleration and nearly flew into his windshield.

::I swear we ride him like this longer and he’ll fall to pieces.::

Morbid was one way to call Barricade’s sense of humor but he was unbeatable in high speed chases. It was an absolute delight to watch him in action. Frame resilient to the stresses of speed and high power output such chases required. Owning the road like his frame was cast to do it. 

::Inappropriate in line of duty, we wouldn’t want to harm a civilian.::

::...Noted:: left unsaid was Prowl not being able to take a joke, Prowl pulling officer talk on him, Prowl just remaining unfazed in a situation in which he could have been injured by flying debris.

Barricade had already gained a frame’s length advantage over the mech they were pursuing. Slotting his frame very snugly in front of the mech they pursued. 

Once in position he started decelerating, making the mech slow down as well lest he ran into the enforcer’s armored aft.

…..

  
  


Jazz sat in front of a mirror in a booth of a roadside cleanup unit. A travel detailing kit set out in front of him. He’d driven all night, his wheels were raw and his tanks were churning. He’d burnt the most of his fuel on getting out of Altihex as fast as his frame could take him and by sunrise had crossed the Praxian citystate boundary. Quite a feat, really. Though none of that would fly if he got caught and given up to the Altihex authorities in Praxus out of all places. 

He wondered when he´d run into the first undercover agents sent after him. Those were trouble on a whole different level. Hence the detailing kit. He could not quite change his frametype but he could change his profile. From a sultry silver-blue he went for basic black and white colors. He twisted this way and that in the mirror, trying not to smudge the fresh paint that was already on his plating and in places it had to be. A little enforcer-ish but he did not mind. 

With a vent, he took a look at the mirror. His paint job was....well, poor was the right word, he was just reluctant to say it considering how much time and effort he’d spent getting that result.

Approaching engine noise caught his attention and he listened carefully for any kind of detail the noise might give away. 2 pursuits and 1 overclocked civvie….. 

Moments later the wall that held his mirror thudded and gave way. Pieces of masonry, paint and sealant flew from the impact, followed by one dented frame that landed right on top of him.

Jazz coughed and wheezed from the dust and added weight. Speaking about those agents, they could have been a little more discreet.

Was it a good idea to make himself known?

Jazz groaned as added weight landed on him in form of a larger pursuit frame appearing through the recently-made hole in the wall placing his heavy, stompy foot on the back of the mecha that had crash-landed on top of him.

-”Uh, mercy, casualty here.” 

The weight lifted quickly and with it the frame of the overclocked speedster.

-”Oi, pit, You ok there?”

Jazz managed a garbled bleet. With all the paint and dust on him he must have looked spectacular. Moments later a black and white mech appeared by his side, asking him something and when he failed to produce an answer he felt a non-too subtle brush against his medical port covers. Instinctively he yanked his arm away.

-” ‘Scuse me do ya mind?” 

-”Pardon, I thought you were concussed and not able to communicate.” 

-”So ya just go right for th’ ports?” 

The black and white blinked, not understanding. -”That’s protocol for heavy injuries of fellow officers. Every enforcer is supposed to know how to triage before the medics arrive. Are you damaged?”

Enforcers? Medics? Wasn’t that his lucky day. -” Nah, mech *cough* never better don’t worry jus take care of yer crazy mech.”

The black and white whipped his helm in direction of the black pursuit instinctively but having spotted nothing amiss, he turned back to Jazz.

-”You took quite a beating, we can escort you to the medical facility if you can drive. If not you can stay while the medical crew arrives.” 

-”I’m fine no worries ya got better things to do.” 

The look of concern on that mech was something. Jazz tried a smile but he genuinely couldn’t, something somewhere was misaligned after all.

-“I have to ask you to grant me access to your medical ports for triage, please.”

On Jazz’s lack of reply he felt the mech brush against his medical panel again. This time he felt an odd, thin pressure to the seam and it popped open regardless of Jazz’s sentiments for it. 

  
Seconds later a mech was in. Presenting his credentials and pinging for Jazz’s medical access and frame specs.   
  
At this point Jazz thought it better than resist, it was not likely he was going anywhere in the state he was in.


End file.
